Thursday, March 31
BUTT BUM!

Goddamn, it looks like a fucking foot bunion glued to its back! Or an onion who's permanently humping a fuzzy cockroach. Poor cockroach. Or shall I say, poor onion?

Oh, and the pupils on the onion's face are actual marks, not artifical ones copyrighted by Christina. That's right bitch, you ain't taking my Photoshop brush strokes.

My my my, what an excellent day.



Wednesday, March 30
My mother has the strangest bathroom habits. Yesterday when I was taking a shower, she comes charging in, takes a really nasty shit, leaves, and doesn't even spray anything to at least lower the fatality level from a 1,000 to a 999. So, I had to get out of the fucking shower stall and spray the Glade Lavender Scent a few [hundred] times. And then I heard her cackling in the hallway about her amazing work.

Today after dinner, I had to take a pee break from eating ice cream. While doing my business, from outside the door she yells, "WHO'S IN THERE?" I yell back, "ME!" My voice is very distinct. No one has a voice as low quite like mine, so I didn't need to specify my name. So after I leave the john, she goes in and then while on the seat doing her business, she yells, "OH GOOD, THE SEAT WAS WARMED BEFORE I GOT HERE!"

So I learned today that my family is much like Dynasty. Or at least on my mom's side. She told me all these crazy stories about certain family members on her mother's side, and I swear, it is fucked up shit. Apparently, they were all beautiful people who had fucked up lives and in addition fucked up other people's lives too. That's why it deserves a numbered list.

My Grammypoo's Fucked Up Yellow Trash
1. One of her three brothers was a heroin addict who sold his house and belongings to feed his addiction, often jumping from rooftop to rooftop back in Vietnam, stealing people's chickens. He eventually died of an overdose.

2. Another brother is a gang member. If you didn't give him money when he asked for it, he'd still be yelling at you through the window from outside even after you kicked him out of the house. He likes to beat people with knives and steal money.

3. The last brother is a pimp. He has/had many girlfriends, and when he finally runs out of babes to woo and waste his money on, he goes back to his sister's house and she takes care of him, financially and offers him a home. Not sexually though, I hope.

4. She has three or four sisters, supposedly all hot babes too. One set herself on fire and killed herself, because she had found out that her husband was cheating on her with her own sister.

5. That sister, I think whom is the prettiest one, that had the affair with the burnt woman's husband, then lived with him after the cookout. He later died of a sickness and she remains alone to this day, I think. She's also had plastic surgery on her face, and for a forty or fifty-something year old woman, could still wear hot pants in public without looking like a saggy pumpkin.

6. Another one of my grandma's sisters, the one in France, has four sons, all of which have illegitimate children and commit corporate fraud.

And that's all that I could remember for now. I have a feeling that I'll be an addition to this list in the near future, if not already.




At Metal Sludge a long time ago, someone said it would be their dream to see Paul Stanley do the chicken dance. Well I made their wish come true.



So who's better at the dance of twats, Vince Neil, or Paul Stanley? You make the decision. Please leave a comment as your vote. And sorry about the lack of Vince's shot, he apparently has hidden all possible evidence. Oh, famous people, with all their money and shit. Being able to dig out everything that could possibly make them look the least bit like us common folk. Not that I ever did the chicken dance or anything. Never. Christina never does the chicken dance.

I'm serious.

In desktop publishing we had to make a magazine cover. It was due a month or something ago, and this is what I have done so far.



Yeah it sucks. But Keef Riff-Hard doesn't. Maybe the ghost of Brian Jones is cursing me, disabling my ability to make awesome magazine covers with Keef on the cover. Oh, you sly one!




Michael Bolton was on The Tony Danza Show yesterday. Too bad I missed it, for it would've given me such a laugh to get over my Notebook depression. I really don't know what he looks like now. The last time I saw him was on I Love the '90s. And he had short hair. Still looks like a loser though. Even if he had hair like Izzy Stradlin, he'd still look like a loser because he's a fucktard at heart. Once a fucktard at heart, always a fucktard at heart.

My neighbor, Mr. Hank Idler, died on Saturday. No one fucking tells me until today, five days after his death, and it wasn't even my own folks who knew this way before me. We used to talk every day while I walked down the street to my house for an hour or two. He'd be sitting on his steps contemplating life, on a plastic lawn chair, either smoking or keeping his hand on his walking stick. He used to always be doing lawnwork, and I'd meet him taking his break smoking a cigarette. Smoking is probably the main factor that sent him away so early, along with a few other serious sicknesses. I'm actually not really sad at all, I'm happy for him.



Tuesday, March 29
I did not triumph. Once I got to bed last night and thought about the movie again, I started to cry and tears flowed. I cried myself to sleep. Stupid fuckers, torturing stupid fucking saps like me.

Today went by pretty fast. Despite the fact that everyone was sick and didn't really have anything to say. I felt like I was the only hopeful one, and who also wasn't sick, by the way. Everything slowed down to a painful agony in art class, the last period of the goddamn day. I'm still working on my silkscreening and had to go make a photocopy of my design, and when I came back, all the damn latino fucks looked at me, and I knew that they were talking about asians, in spanish. I had to stand by them in front of a nearby desk to put my photocopy into the silkscreening machine piece of shit, and then they asked me if I was chinese. People ask that question to me as much as I make fun of Axl. I said no, they asked what I was, I said I was vietnamese. And one fuck goes "Damn!" I have no idea what that was about, being that they were talking in spanish before and just started speaking in english again and I couldn't comprehend enough of what was left to find out what exactly it was that they were saying.

My seat is beside the biggest stupid fuck of them all. And while I was taping some piece of shit to another piece of shit, someone threw a paper ball at my back. I turned around and one guy looked at me and smirked or something, and the fucking perpetrator had his back to me. Later on in class when I was at my seat again and he got up to go somewhere, the stupid assfuck threw something at my hair, I think. I felt something hit my long fucking locks and it wasn't no fucking accident.

Racism, it's not mainly in caucasians anymore, it's in latino folks now. Or at least in my school. I don't know what makes them think they're so much better than me, or anybody else. I'm no different than any other person when it comes to how important every individual or "type" of individuals is. Yes, I know I'm not the typical, quintessential geektwat with the glasses and squinty eyes and Pokemon cards or Hello Kitty toy kind of asian, but I still don't know what makes those latin kids dislike me still. I've never said or done a thing, I only sit at the table adjacent to theirs. I kind of think they pick on asians because they're too fucking full of wombat puss to pick on caucasians, they know that caucasians are of supposed higher rank than them, and besides them and everyone else, who's a caucasian in that class, I'm the only exception. Well except for another indian girl, but she sits pretty far from them, so there's no preference to her.

I haven't received such racial behavior since seventh grade, when this guy in gym class called to me, "Hey, chinese girl!" Even then, this other boy was really annoyed by it. He was caucasian, and I did appreciate his concern. He kept complaining to the dude who called me that, and still continued to say that he was sorry about the guy's behavior to me.

I was pretty sad for the duration of class after the paper ball being thrown at me, and proceeded to drift in melancholy on my walk home and upon greeting my mom. I didn't tell her though. She brought pizza dough and such ingredients from the supermarket today, so we made a pizza and after a few tries of sticking the pizza in and out of the oven, it finally was almost to the right level of crisp. It was damn good anyway.

I'm not going to fucking bash the hell out of latino folks now. Honestly, race is probably the single last fucking thing I ever see in a person. I usually notice their eyes, and through their eyes you could see a whole lot of things about them. Not everything, but definitely a more in-depth vision on who they are than what their skin color or hair texture is. Or just the way they talk could tell you more about them. There's plenty of other things to a person besides what fucking part of the world they're from. I don't have anything against anyone coming from Holland, or Australia, or Columbia, or wherever the fuck climate in where people are able to fuck. I don't give a flying shit.

My mom was not notified of this for she'd take it a bit beyond proportion, in my opinion, and lecture me for an hour or two; going from this aspect of racism to that aspect of looks and so forth. I don't need to hear it again. She tells me things that happened to her in the real world, like that other time last year at Shop Rite, when these african americans made a fool of her over a few bananas at the cash register. But I'm not going to elaborate on that, it's even embarassing enough for myself to talk about it, even having just heard it from her by word of mouth.



Monday, March 28
Alas, I triumphed! I didn't create a puddle bigger than your dog's four-day-old awaited piss. As a matter of fact, not a single tear dripped onto my face. They say third time's a charm, but this second time is good fucking enough for me. I might have gotten over this. But I probably haven't.

I really don't want to return the DVD back to Blockbuster tomorrow. They could suck my ass and go hump a cactus for all I care, with a dog licking its ass.

The question is, should I not go to school after five stupid days and watch the movie one more time before noon, or go to school and let the folks return it? No, obviously I have to go kill myself.

Which is going to school. It feels like I haven't kept in touch with anyone in years. Oh well, I may be feeling distant and mellow now, but once I step onto those grounds everything will be back to normal.




Who the fuck runs a video business and doesn't have any blank DVD's left? My dad. I tried to make a copy of The Notebook, only to find out that there are absolutely no spare blank discs to copy the fucking thing to. I really don't understand that man.

Another man I don't understand is Axl Rose.




Ladies and gentlemen, Gwar sucks.




This fucking movie has given me depression. I feel like a fucking emo kid who actually has depression and actually acknowledges that they're a fucking loser. I cried just twenty minutes into the movie. It went on full sobbing and stigmata action when Allie freaked and they had to inject shit into her. This is inhumane, torturing innocent lives. Oh man Mick Jagger is on TV. Now I am totally not ready to go back to school, because I bet just the slightest little thing would set me off and tears would start pouring like Old Faithful. Except that I would erupt every fifteen minutes, not every forty-five minutes.

Scariest fucking sight when I stepped in front of the mirror. It was Selma Blair from The Exorcist with a nasty red complexion. Snot was all over my sleeves, it looked like a clear sugar coating on my arms. Fucking wrecked, I say. Fucking scarred for life, man.

It was a good thing I watched it alone, for if my folks were there I'd fucking get the shit kicked out of me for being a crybaby. Seriously, how do these people make such touching movies? God, I don't know why the country isn't going through another Great Depression. One that not money could solve.

We also rented Garden State. Zach Braff did an amazing job as writer and director. I was surprised. There's not many movies that I find flawless and Garden State was one.

I'm thinking about copying the Notebook disc and seeing if I could survive watching it again. It's very risky, for I could soon be heading to the pharmacy for my prescription of Zoloft, or I could be walking around high and mighty wearing a t-shirt that says "I BEAT EMO."

One good thing that came of this is that saltwater is good for the skin. So with all the tears and shit dripping all over my face, it cleaned my face up pretty nicely the morning after. This could be a new acne solution. Watch The Notebook and a good portion of your skin is clear the next day.




I fucking cried. I cried my fucking eyes out until I looked like this:



Sorry, couldn't find a picture of the middle eastern woman who supposedly has stigmata, with blood pouring all over her face. But I looked just like that. My face turned fucking red and so did my eyes. I cried until my hands got numb and then my feet, to my legs and eventually my entire body was gone. It fucking shook me to hell. When I looked in front of the mirror it looked like a fucking massacre went on with nukes and tear gas bombs and super soakers. I was fucking crushed, my heart was radiating like a baked potato in the microwave for three hours. I cried and fucking bawled like I hadn't in years since I got hit with a stick by my parents.

Because I just watched The Notebook.



Sunday, March 27
Hey guys, what do you do when you're bored? I just sit around until I lose the feeling in my ass, and then I get up to look for food and sit down again until my sphincter muscle explodes. I'm in a period in my life in which I have nothing to write about. More like, no ideas or spark to write from. Thus the crappy entries lately. I'm not really sorry, though. You can suffer from reading this boring crap if you want. But just keep in mind that I too am well aware of the lack of quality.

There is currently a special on the Food Network right now on pizza. It looks fucking delicious. We were supposed to order pizza today just for the fucking hell of it, but it just so happens that pretty much everywhere is closed. That sucks balls, much like Axl Rose. We're also supposed to make cocktails and drinks today with margarita mix and vodka and all that good stuff, but apparently the mother's excuse is "Oh I have to work on the floor and install the molding."

Maybe I should ask if I could make the stuff on my own. But the risk that will be running is that there will be no more for anybody else.




Nikki Sixx

What Motley Crue Member are you?

Not like me at all. Or at least I hope not.



Saturday, March 26
I got a postcard from Damien in the mail today. Supposedly it was written around St. Patrick's Day. Thanks a lot, postal service. I loved it, I love everything that I get in the mail from a friend. It made me weepy because my mom pissed me off before and I guess the pussy side of me was still lingering around. Haha, I love Damien's handwriting for some reason.

My mom fucking hated the Birkenstocks I bought yesterday and starts going on this fucking rampage of screaming about how bad they were. I at last, finally, after so many weeks of agony of looking at ugly shoes wherever I went, I finally got to have the one pair that won my heart. I was looking for some kind of rustic looking laid back sort of footwear that I could wear anywhere with anything, anytime. And what does she do? Act like a fucking lunatic like some people fucking shit their pants upon hearing Bush winning the election. Come on, shut the fuck up, Gwar isn't taking over the world and making you practice abstinence with a black plunger up your ass. How are you going to change that? And how am I going to change the way I look for shoes?

I'll provide pictures later. They're the only look that I want. It's practically impossible to find a pair that doesn't have a stupid groove thing on the sole, which is the only reason she fucking pulled an Axl on me.

Pulled an Axl! I haven't used that term in ages. Something's wrong with me.

Something is seriously wrong with me. Please tell me why fucktard "emo" immature total no-nonsense, no-sex, no-boys type of person like this has a boyfriend and I don't. The most sexually immature and nonsensical people get ass and well, you get the idea. A lot of friends ask me about this, and it bothers me also that I really don't have an explanation to tell them. It's hard to give one advice when you have the same problem.



Friday, March 25
Ilona and I went to the mall today, such fucking good times, man. We hadn't seen each other in over a year and it felt like we'd been hanging out forever. We spent four hours there, going to Lord and Taylor, Cache, and Victoria's Secret trying on every single fucking pretty lacy fluffy thing in sight. And all we bought was a cheap holographic purse and a cheap imitation of Birkenstock sandals. We took some pictures of the dresses and lingerie with her cell phone. It's not really porn though. Sorry, boys.

She only sent me three back, so that's all I have for you to masturbate to.


What a HORRIBLE pose. I bent my torso in this weird way so I look semi-pregnant or I got some fucked up back problem. The other picture of me in this dress was so much better. But Miss Ilona was too lazy to send it. You can see her taking the picture in the background in the mirror. Lord and Taylor has the most amazing fitting rooms. Bigger than my room, sheesh.


Ilona looking sassy in a pink Barbie-esque cake gown. You can see me in the mirror with the black dress taking the picture.


Victoria's Secret fitting room. We only tried on lingerie tops and corsets. Thongs are out of the question. You can see her taking the picture of me again. We're horrible photographers.



Wednesday, March 23

Beastmaster sucks you know, no need to be trying to copy that crap.


This little boy apparently does not love his family, because he's embarassed about his family's peculiar hair color. For example, here's his younger brother:


Cute little fella, ain't he? I don't see why C.C. shows no love for his kin.


He's trying to make us think his penis is so big that he has to lean back and keep his legs open, when it is actually the size of C.C.'s younger brother.


Like Dee Snider said, "THERE'S NO SMILING IN HEAVY METAL!" Poison is clearly the gay man's band.


If this piece of shit were to be sold at a cosmetics store, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between it and this:


Aw, what a great gift for your four year old! And I'm talking about the makeup kit.

You scored as Classic Rock.. Classic Rock. Classic Rock. 92% Britpop 79% Punk and Pop Punk. 75% Indie 67% Hardcore 67% Industrial 63% Hip Hop and Rap 54% Emo & More 54% Country 50% Ska 33% Indie Rock 33% Mainstream 17% Music Recommendation created with QuizFarm.com

I told you I didn't like ska. Yeah, and I like NWA too. What confuses me is, are heavy metal and hardcore the same fucking thing, and is that why metal isn't listed there? Around here in Jersey, it apparently isn't. One is for scenesters and the other is the Metallica kind.

Took the first birth control pill yesterday, and it's starting to make me feel like shit. I hope I get the side effect that gives you bigger boobs and not the one that makes you gain weight.

It fucking sucks that the entire four day weekend coming up is probably going to rain all through the fucking thing. Come on, we're supposed to be having a barbecue, my mom even bought margarita mix and vodka, bitch, where's my fucking sun? Yesterday was about sixty degrees, and today it's about thirty-five and blizzarding. Makes no fucking sense. And you californians are bitching about rain. You shouldn't be talking, you don't have arctic dandruff and frozen genital weather alternating with potentially nice weather that is tainted with pussy tornado winds.

Today was alright. Ryan gave me a ride home, because the weather was absolute white slosh flying all over the place. His dad has a nice SUV. When we pulled up at my house, my mom was in the garage with the garage door open, snow flying like shit in a blender right in front of her, power sawing on a table away some laminate flooring in full view of us. Fucking hardcore, man. I was like, "Oh man, my mom's using the saw." And then Ryan and his dad started laughing. Then I said my thanks and went into my house.

I smelled something really sensationally good, and thought that the mother was cooking something good inside. But then I realized it was burning wood from all the sawing power that she was creating. I'm so dumb when it comes to these things. While in New York seeing Conan O'Brien last month, I thought the subway smell was tasty italian pasta. I'm dead serious, it smelled good.

I told her about how hardcore she was at dinner today and how everyone thinks she looks fucking insane, and her reply was, "Give me a gun and blow you away." Or something like that.

God I love the hiding thing on AIM. I could be online and no one would bother me, being that it looks like I'm not online, but then at the same time I could stalk them, or IM a certain person if it's really important. With all this work and shit to do for school, I don't have time for small talk. Unless you catch me when I'm not hiding or something.

I want another leather jacket. My current one is the short style so I literally freeze my ass off. Maybe I'll get a dark brown one. Or maybe another black. Or even better yet, get a dark brown one and a black one. Oh would that be the day, when I get TWO new leather jackets. I would fucking cry myself to sleep in such bliss. Sleeping wearing one and lying on top of the other one, that is.

Men in the right leather jacket is extremely hot. Find me a man in a nice leather jacket and I'll fucking swoon faster than a ten pound spoon falling on your foot. Dark hair, leather jacket, tight jeans, green eyes, oh man I'm going to fucking cream just imagining such things. Axl Rose is one trait short. Or more like two. He has light hair and is a pussy. Izzy Stradlin has it all, except my age.

For some reason after I got my new Calvin Klein jeans from the laundry they seemed to be bigger than when I first purchased them. That's why I haven't worn them yet, afraid I can't pull them off. I hope there is a good explanation for this and that they will somewhow shrink to my miniature ass size in the future.

The probable reason for my recent neglect of writing here is Myspace. That shit is like nicotine, without the lung disease and looking hot blowing smoke out of your mouth in that cool James Dean way.

Eric Clapton, contemporary adult music artist of the century! Poor guy. "Tears in Heaven" totally kills me every, single, time. Kills me as in the bad way. So boring. I have pity for the real reason and person for whom that song was written about, though.



Tuesday, March 22

Which 1980's Hair Band Are You?

NO!



Monday, March 21
Excrete the Concrete. Oh man, what an awesome band name.

I am at such a loss of creativity. A famine of divine capability of a vivid and fluent imagination. We were supposed to design a stained glass window for geometry class tomorrow with so and so kinds of shapes and so and so numbers of those shapes, and all I could think up of was a flower with a sun in a pot with a border around it. That's fucking child's chickenshit. I wanted more of something up to my fifteen year old, high school sophomore, absolutely sober ability. So I ended up not doing it.





You are . . . "Cherry Pie" by Warrant.
So, okay, your girlfriend's a LITTLE TEENSY BIT
underage. And, you love her and all; love is
fine, as long as hot sex comes with it. And
you all look hot doin it. "Look so
good/make a grown man cry/Sweet Cherry
Pie!!"


Which Hair Metal Song Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Greatest fucking song, man.



Sunday, March 20
The rainy season is starting. I fucking despise rain. Why can't we have California-like weather, east coast style? It happens every so often. But no often at all for this year.

Yesterday, I almost got Converse low tops. I was really reluctant at first and then it overcame all in the end. They looked pretty good on me, being that a size six fits so my feet don't fucking look like clown shoes. Even my mom said they looked good. But I decided against buying them mainly because of insecurity. And the fact that I was fucking tired that just about every Zeppelin and screamo poser out there wears black low tops too. Just because of all these dumbfucks jumping on the bandwagon, they have to ruin it for the rest of us who wear, or want to wear them, simply because we think they look good. This sounds shallow, but it's the truth. I think I'll just have to wear sandals all through spring and summer for the rest of my life, or maybe even through winter at this point. Or maybe I'll just stick with other kinds of sneakers.

I need a new pair before my left shoe becomes a squishy squashy breast implant when I walk in the rain.

Still want Birkenstocks though, stupid fucks sell them for too much though. Mayber Timberland will have a nice alternative.

So I reconnected with Ilona yesterday too. She called and we started talking and hopefully she remembers to call me later this week to hang out.




Emo turns me off, move on you stupid fuck!

I had ice cream today. And cappuchino and beef jerky and soup and a peanut butter cookie and a coffee cake and nachos with warm cheese. It was all good.

My mom and I drove around and around for two hours, listening to Queen and good stuff like that on the radio even if she doesn't really like my music but it was cool. And funny when we drove through Morristown and made fun of the stupid fucking wanksta's, or whatever the fuck they like to call themselves.



Friday, March 18
jehovaries: i fucking lvoe oranges
appetiteforlies: haha
jehovaries: the only fruit i will ever obligingly eat
jehovaries: besides rob halford

Goddamn, I crack myself up with stupid jokes. I don't know, I just love to amuse myself in such stupid and pathetic ways, just like my life. I'm cornier than that dad from Leave it to Beaver or Dick Van Dyke. Oh man, what a great name.

Today I got a splinter underneath my fingernail and my mom had to pull it out with a very lusterous pair of pliers, after having to first trim a lot of it off. Then she trimmed some flesh off while trying to get a little speck that was still stuck in it. That caused it to bleed. Now my right pointer piggy has a stupid looking bandaid on it.

But you know what made the experience not as bad as it sounds? She bought a bag of beef jerky today and man was I so fucking overjoyed. So with one hand under the pliers, the other was shoved in a huge bag of smoked and spiced strips of tender soft beef feeding my screaming mouth. That sounded wrong, but it would have been oh so right if it were Izzy Stradlin's beef.

I think I spent a total of three hours going back and forth from Myspace to some other webpages and crap today. It's depressing. And I actually typed something in it



Thursday, March 17
I almost made myself cry because I had to draw a political cartoon for homework and it ended up being too overly sad and dramatic.

Boy, I crack myself up!

Today wasn't bad. I think I actually worked hard somehow in my classes.

I downloaded the video for "China Girl" and man does David look cute in it. For a forty or something year old man back then. I would so still tap that ass today though. Iman did, why can't I? Hey, he was feminine back in the '70s but he still kicked ass, unlike the kind of dudette that I was talking about in my last post. Those kinds of dudes are feminine and feminine, that's it. David Bowie on the other hand is more hardcore than Taco Bell chicken quesadillas, and those things are fucking amazing.

I'm fucking in love with his voice, he's up in the Frank Sinatra and that little VJ dude who used to work for MTV, the one with the gheri curl I think. The one that Michael Ian Black said must have gotten ALL the ladies. I forgot his name.

After school my mom drove me to Michaels to go buy a frame for the Axl mosaic that I'm entering in a contest, hopefully to win some damn money. I think I mentioned that I entered an Izzy Stradlin linoleum print into another contest, and if I win that $400 prize, I might consider buying a premium ticket to see Velvet Revolver. Which I highly doubt will ever happen.




Scene and emo, seem to go hand in hand. And apparently there's hundreds of them within a two-mile radius around me and this ghetto creaky chair. I'm starting to get sick of it. Really sick of it. The more time that I slowly kill myself on Myspace, the more I despise it. But at the same time I get more obsessed with it. Right now I'd rather take acid drops like Jimmy Carter taking a douze and end up like Ozzy Osbourne, barely even being able to talk, than slowly fuck myself up with this shit.

So Mike's leaving for a new school. That isn't cool.

I really hate B days. While waiting to be dismissed in gym class today, I was sitting between Lindsay and another girl who obviously does not like me. Lindsay asked me what courses I was going to take next year after asking the other person, and inserting 150% sarcasm, I said "I'm taking Algebra 2M. As you can see, I'm very good at math." Lindsay giggled and you should've fucking seen the other girl's face, she gave me the most horrible look. Or at least that's what I perceived, because I didn't want to cause any more tension. There was so much negative tension going on, because I had, in a way, insulted her. Because when Lindsay asked her about her next year's courses, course after course it was an advanced placement, and even a Gifted & Talented. Whilst I mention a stupid fucktard low almost of the utmost lowest, which I most deservedly belong in. I don't care. I think if I take such a low course I'll actually get past my fond knowledge of basic addition. Not subtraction, subtraction's too hard and negatives make me sad.

The other girl even said she already filled out her college forms or some shit. In freshman year. She also stated that she wants to be an international investment banker. What the fuck? She is probably one of the most close-minded people that I have ever met. Throwing away your entire youth and only caring about money? That's how I see it. Of course maybe she's got other reasons for being so conformatively determined in her future, but I can tell that she's an impetuous bitch. That last line from Guns n' Roses' "Back Off Bitch" comes to mind.

"FUCKING BITCH!"

Oh Axl, how I dearly love you and your pussyful ways. How ruff and tuff you are, how so ruff and tuff you are that you could beat Mr. T in a slap fight.

She's an academy kid. They have no sense of humor. Which means I don't belong within a thousand yards of them. Whatever, let's see who becomes the cranky financial child-molester when they grow up. You know, a lot of sexual harassment goes on in business office environments and churches. Two such places that are as close to me as Gwar.

So, I really am seriously not turned on by guys who are pretty feminine, even if they are straight. Metrosexual scenesters, god awfully disgusting. I want a man's man, not a fag's man. Come on, I'm manly enough as a girl I don't need a little sissy bitch to stick his cock up my twat. I bet sex with a feminine dude would suck. Seriously. Bland, boring, weak, soft, dumb. Example? I'm sorry but I don't want to look for a picture for it will forever taint my journal. However, I will provide you with an example of a manly man.


Hot damn! Even my mom loves this guy. I'd beat my bum to a fucking sack of saurkraut in a car crash too just to tap that ass.


Come, to Butt-Head.

I'd date a dude who looks like James Dean or Izzy Stradlin in a fucking split second. If you know one, you better fucking tell Christina.



Wednesday, March 16
Why's everyone dying their hair? Quite not so frankly, 95% of all hair dye jobs I've seen absolutely suck. It's either their entire head wasn't covered in acid properly, or they can't fucking pick out the right color(s). I say before you start going through with that further step of changing your hair color, you should perfect your natural hair first, as in get a nice cut, untangle it, fix its texture, etc. Don't dye your hair if your head already looks like somebody's pubes after masturbation.

Even a while after the dye job is done, most folks can't even maintain that color nor their hair at the same time, so their roots start to grow in and suddenly their head looks like one of those rainbow colored ice pops, usually chocolatey and caramely. Except that I guarantee the ice pops taste much better than your head.

Not to mention that most dye jobs don't look natural at all, except if you're going for a wild, different kind of look with colors such as blue or green or pink. Please, have some fucking common sense before dying your hair so black that your head looks like a fucking otter who's humping your follicles all day. Or some other color that makes you look like a fucking fake. That's what mirrors are for, evaluating yourself. Evaluate with your eyes goddammit, not with Cosmogirl and YM.




Why Hello Kids,

Today was very peachy. Not to mention that it was quite windy. My hair got messy and it was not cool. The sun is going down which means I have to herd up the cattle and hit the sack.




-Mick Jagger




Why Hello Kids,

Today was very peachy. Not to mention that it was quite windy. My hair got messy and it was not cool. The sun is going down which means I have to herd up the cattle and hit the sack.



Monday, March 14
I fucking hate it when I'm cranky and I seriously can't tell if I am. Or maybe I'm not cranky at all, and it's just the people around me. I have no idea. It's close to my monthly french revolution and I still can't pinpoint the stages of emotional fury, bodily ballooning, yadda yadda yadda. Because lately Eric's been saying that I'm mean and so defensive. I can't tell if it's just my hormones going crazy or that his hormones or whatever the hell's going on in his head is going crazier than usual. I'm sure he's just kidding anyway, but then again I tend to take things way too personally, so this could just be nothing at all, and just another one of his jokes to try to piss me off.

So at lunch he was giving me these funny looks to try to make me implode and go crazy, so I kiddingly smack his head to the side. It was a slow smack, no pain at all. So the cute guy comes by (to "ask for my geometry homework") and Eric suddenly goes, "She hit me!" And the other guy goes, "Well then hit her back! Then she'll be owing you double time." Or something like that, I'm horrible at listening even at the most crucial times. God, that was embarassing.

They were just kidding anyway, but stupid things tend to bother stupid people.

I care about him a lot, and I guess he cares about me a lot too. Because lately, all these people keep hanging around me at lunch, and for some reason my once pretty much completely empty area on the floor in the lobby where I eat lunch has become a pit full of people, all of whom I know. What makes it even more odd, despite the fact that I didn't invite anyone, is that I barely even talk to them. Well I guess it's either my extreme hot sexual appeal that makes them come over, or maybe I'm starting to unintentionally sell out. As more people come to me, more people that they know come and etc. etc. the whole place becomes like a fucking Motley Crue meet-and-greet. Well, he seldom complains and leaves about my sudden horde of fandom. Only for another time to still concern me about it and the fact that we can't really hang out on B days anymore really.

That really touches me, someone who really cares that much. He even walks me to class after our A lunch on A days even if his class is all the way on the other side of school, on the upstairs level.

I think our relationship as just friends really intimidates the other guy, and I'm seriously considering that he's starting to lose interest.

No editing, so if anything isn't clear it's because of that.




Billy Idol has some pretty awesome songs, but some others are just pretty plan retarded bubble-gum repetitious lyrical crap. For example, "Dancing With Myself." Who the hell would really take a thought such as "If I had the chance to ask anyone in the world to dance, I'd be dancing with myself" seriously? And he keeps on saying that same line over and over and over and fucking over until the song isn't even as remotely enjoyable anymore. I've got to admit, that man was damn hot though. I remember on I Love the '80s when Henry Rollins said that as a teenager, he and his friends would try to do that signature Billy Idol snarl and get their bottom lip as low as they can. Oh wait, that's Sylvestor Stallone in Over the Top that that he was talking about. My mistake.

I finished reading Villa Incognito on Friday. Probably the craziest and most out-of-the-world book that I've ever read. I like it. I've never seen such hilarious analogies sinch reading my crap again. Tom Robbins really does surprise me, in a fucking good way.

Started to read Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil also, and maybe it's the fact that I was in class and was trying to listen to the teacher and concentrate on the book at the same time, but so far it's kind of difficult to read and understand all those words that that crazy little german man is trying to say.

Yesterday I had a fabulous fucking time shopping. This time I actually got some stuff. It was only four items, but to me that's a hell of a lot of shit and I'm really fucking grateful for it. Get this, I got a black button-up DKNY shirt, a tank top from Forever 21, a beautifully washed pair of Calvin Klein jeans, and a Tommy Hilfiger sweater. I can't fucking believe it still, that's the most designer clothing, more like triple times the amount of designer clothes that I've ever gotten, in my entire life. Why did my mom buy me so much clothes? For some reason a lot of crap, pretty much everything and everywhere at Macy's, was on sale. I have no idea why everything was on sale for such low prices, there was no special occasion, no special sale, no big blowout or anything. My most probable guess is that it's a seasonal thing - winter is ending and spring is coming and they want to get rid of all their shit. But what doesn't even make sense either is that even the spring and summer clothing was on sale. Whatever, we went shopping at the right time.

I wonder who ever wears button-up shirts as casual wear anymore. It's not particularly a preppie thing, it depends on how you wear it.

Now I can't really remember anything else that happened, except that Popeye's Chicken & Biscuits makes really good biscuits but not very good chicken. Well, the chicken was good, but I liked the biscuits better. And Auntie Anne's makes the best fucking pretzels on earth, period. Fucking prove me wrong and you get oral pleasure for twenty-four hours straight.

I used to ask some of my friends pretty often if my eyes were red or not. And just recently, I just realized that I unintentionally came off as looking like a fucking pothead. When in reality I was looking for an excuse to go to the nurse and wondering if my allergies were kicking up or anything.

Today in school was okay. It was Pi Day so our geometry class went to the library to play games and do circular math problems and win treats and shit. It was, as my partner Katrina said, "A good waste of time." I just liked the chocolate that I won, even if it was only two pieces, a cookie, and another free cookie with cream in the middle.

In art class we're starting silkscreening, and I'm making a Guns n' Roses t-shirt. I'd like to make some more t-shirts, but the thing is, I only have one plain shirt. So I guess I'll just have to make some paper ones of David Bowie or something. Ziggy's always easy to do art with, being that there's thousands of great pictures of him that I could look at them so artistically, not to mention that they are artistic in themselves anyway.

Yeah, I'm starting to bore myself writing this. So I'll leave you some wise words from David Lee Roth.

"One day he said, 'I'll tell you what. We'll play a game of catch. We don't have to talk. We'll throw the ball.'

I know how to throw a ball, and I can remember, quite vividly, that first ballgame. It was called, 'He throws me the ball, and I throw it at his head as hard as I possibly can, and he would try and get out of the way.' That was my introduction to sports."



Saturday, March 12
So just over dinner I talked to my mom about this racism issue that's been on my mind lately that had developed from events that went on this week. I was pretty surprised to hear that she totally understood about the people with the most superb grades are extremely racist and arrogant, and she understood every single fucking point that I was trying to make.

I have to say that I fucking hate academy kids at the school. I look down upon them with scorn and such hatred, and this is a serious scorn, possibly more than my abhorrence to Gwar. It's kind of hypocritical to hate anyone at all according to my personal views of having opinions on other people, but when you fucking strike fear into someone whom I care about, something that could relate to all of humanity also, you're going to fucking get it. Well, just my hatred of you for now, but in the future karma is going to beat your fucking biased ass.

Now let's make this clear. Academy kids are the super supposedly intelligent people in school with the most excellent grades and on the flipside, no compassion or anything else that makes up a heart except for others of their own, let's say, academic brain capacity. This is about most of them, not all. Not all are assholes like that. Just because not everyone else doesn't have the greatest grades down on paper doesn't mean that they're any better than you or are even smarter than you.

One issue is about those who refuse to do well in school, and hate working. Then how are they so smart? In my opinion, and from my own perspective and personal belief, they find other things in life to be more important than getting simple A's and A+'s on paper that get you a free pass to a good job to work for in the future. I've found love in a lot of people, I like to see what they have to offer, as in exploring human nature, finding compassion within others, figuring how the world goes and its certain patterns and such. I find these things to be much more important - important in the long run and when it comes to being a person and sustaining your integrity as a decent being.

And some other people are just not into anything at all, grades nor compassion of others. That's a whole other story. I could just say that they're not, I guess, open-minded to either academics or humans - a lack of wisdom and maturity, is what could explain it.

Now, would I really hate these fucking academy kids to the deep core, to the point of murder or some kind of form of "racism?" No, I just hate the fact that they could think and treat others like that. And if they change, any of them, at all, sure, I'll forgive them and think better of them, even befriend them at that. They need to fucking smash open that fucking mind of theirs and open it up to everyone else around them, not just to their own "type," and treating everybody else like I would treat to a Poison fan at a Megadeth concert.

Right now, and all afternoon ever since I tore up that progress report behind my mother's back, I'm starting to regret it. She deserves the goddamn truth and to know everything about me that's going on, to help me improve myself and guide all my stupid fucked up shit of an adolescent mind that I have. The only way that I could even closely fix this problem, because completely reversing the burden of regret is impossible, is to actually try to do better in school, because for ever since I've gone to school, she told me that all she ever wanted from me was not to be beautiful, not to be fucking sexy as hell or to be popular or anything, and that all she wanted was for me to do good in school. It's about time that I finally fulfilled her wish.

Of course she wanted my affection too, but I bet she already knows that. The affection comes from the mere fact that she's my mom.

It's not easy writing all of this, these are points that really get to me. I could yet go deeper, but I'll save you the second Niagara Falls.

I'm starting to really like all my time of boredom and not doing anything. It helps me to think and look at everything in a more in-depth way, not just the mere facade of it. No wonder I'm writing so much shit. Of course I've noticed that during the weekend or a break and I have nothing to do and I'm just sitting in front of this stupid piece of shit for hours beyond hours, I come up with a lot of shit to write. That's cool.




Oh man, I just made a Mr. Spock layout. He's the fucking shit. It's also my first non-music layout. Score!

Wow, that was so lame. I'm probably in a good mood right now because I just got a shitload of shit off of my back. Got the midquarter progress report in the mail, found out that I got a lot of little numbers indicating my many faults in school in addition to the low grades, tore it up, and flushed it down the toilet. The mother was in her room taking a nap, thank goodness. I also told her that I ordered some Ebay stuff, and cleared up the situation that if I ever order shit or anything, I have to tell her.

So here is my homage to Spock. A man who is a thousand times sexier than William Shatner.


Kinky, kinky! Don't be fixin' yo' eyes on the wrong place or the back of her hand is going to land on yo' face!


Has he gotten just at least bit sexy with the new facial pubic rug?


"Two beers please, dude."


He's going for the Bret Michaels look with all that makeup on.


You'll surely get sweet dreams with this little bedmate, he's already pants-less for you. Maybe the ears would tickle even the hardest fancy.



Friday, March 11
I hate spelling "Nietzsche." I've read his name so many times - in textbooks, in the Jim Morrison biography I read a while ago, and in numerous other places. And I still need to look at a book or some kind of legitimate source to make sure how to spell his goddamn name right. Even his first name is hard. The only way I can remember to spell his first name is that I put the words "fried" and "rich" together and I get "Friedrich."




It seems like every time I feel like writing a post, and when I get to this page to write the entry, I suddenly lose interest. Which equals in a crappy entry. But I'll be smart this time, and end the shitty entry before it fucking kills you. Or maybe I'll just go on. Paradox right there. Yeah, the vocabulary quizzes in english class really help.

After school my mom drove me to the library, and picked up quite a few books. They really fucking weighed a lot. And do you know why I got so many books? Because I had just discovered the rock n' roll section of the library that I've overlooked for so many years. Among my stack of covered papers was David Lee Roth's autobiography, Crazy From the Heat. I also got a book by Nietzche just out of pure curiosity, and why Jim Morrison really loved him so much; a book on deadly cults, and this huge ass Rolling Stones (what Stones book isn't huge as an elephant ass?) called The Rolling Stones: Life on the Road, or something like that. It's huge, fucking dude-from-Type-O-Negative-penis-size kind of huge. It's full of pictures and a fairly small amount of words, which is just my type of book.

I really hate B days. The people in my classes on those days make me feel like shit. They don't directly do shit to me or anything like that, but they're just full of shit anyway. My friend told me about something serious in one of my classes regarding racism, and how it was directed towards their background. I promised that I wouldn't tell anyone, so I won't elaborate on it. It really hit me to see my friend, or any friend at all, walk around with such fear or pain. That's not fucking cool. I'm really surprised that I haven't been hit with any racist blows, being that I'm a fucking asian, and asians fucking stand out, bitch. Well if anyone dares to fucking be a fucking Hitler-ho to me then you'll fucking get a rock up your ass so fucking high up there that you won't be able to shit for four months nor be able to produce kids.

On Sunday the folks are taking me shopping at Bridgewater Commons. Hopefully I will get new shoes, or at least something nice. The last few shopping trips to anywhere I never got anything.

Overall, this week has been pretty bad. I realized that I get weepy too easily. Maybe it's just a phase, or maybe I really am a puss and should take all my Axl Rose and Vince Neil jokes back. No, I don't think the monthly french revolution is coming anytime soon either. It could be, because that would explain why I've been so fucking moody, sappy, and emotional. I talked to Ferris today, and I guess I gained another good friend also. It was about people turning their backs on us and stuff, no shoe thieving. It was Molly's turn.

I'm fucking terrified if my folks get a hold of my midquarter grades in the mail before I do. They're the same numbers as how old young slutty vagina Hollywood is. Which means I can't slack off and sleep fucking all day tomorrow and keep an eye out, and constantly keep a vigil over the window for my dear mailman with a bushy mustache.

Is it a new trend to wear ripped jeans? I know I've complained about it before, but as more and more days go by, I keep seeing more and more expensivly bought pre-ripped jeans on people's legs. It's sickening, and most, more like all, can't fucking pair them with the right clothes. Come on, ripped jeans and a flowery top? Go fuck your dad. It's also just a bit tad cold to be wearing such airy pants too. Have some fucking common sense for once.

I miss my leather jacket dearly too. Once it gets to be a nice, almost warm day, I get to wear it and not fucking freeze my ass off in the morning. And then as school starts to end, it fucking rains. And rains. And rains. And rains. And if you aren't a stupid Gwar-loving dumbfuck, you would know that leather and water don't go together, especially acid water. Oh man, Acid Water is such a cool name for a band. Same thing with Psycho Fags. That's fucking awesome. Back to my jacket. I wish more guys would wear them too. Some do wear them, but a lot of them can't fucking find the right one. I hate those huge ones that look like fucking garbage cans with plastic bag sleeves stapled onto the sides. For now, I can only name one guy would could pull a leather jacket off, and the right leather jacket. God, he is hot indeed.

Oh wait, I think there's a freshman dude too who has a hot leather jacket. But he's a fucking, as Eric likes to call them, "kindergoth." No thank you. No Slipknot fans for me, never. If you are, just fuck off. Go to Mongolia and herd some llamas or something. Or whatever country. I don't know, just go the fuck away.

In history we're starting the Industrial Revolution. And it finally answered my question on why people used to be so racist against the irish. I could never figure out why, they're the coolest bunch of human beings and not to mention that they're pretty fucking hot. Colin Farrell! Yeah, shut the fuck up. He's my only current Hollywood figure that I actually care the least bit about. The rest can go suck a goat clit. But no, actually he's just an example that I always use when I talk about irish people. And Mr. Potatohead, but he's not very sexy. I wonder why there's a Mrs. Potatohead, if Mr. Potatohead ain't very good looking. But you know, in the end, it's personality that counts. Can't remember how Mr. Potatohead's personality is though.

I need to stop talking about guys and actually start to go hunt them down. But first I have to eat dinner.



Wednesday, March 9
So I'm very relieved right now regarding my Ebay shirt. I just contacted the seller asking whether he sent it out or not yet, and got a reply within just a matter of about ten minutes. He says it takes 7-12, possibly even more days, for stuff from the UK to reach most US destinations. It's not even twelve business days yet, so it's all good and it should be coming real soon.

I also just ordered a copy of Guns n' Roses' performance at The Ritz in '88. I'm excited about that. In case any of you kids would like a copy, I'll be more than happy to burn you one. Just remind me whenever I declare its arrival. And wish that I'm not feeling like a lazy fuck.

This Motley Crue shirt might be in the process of my brain of ordering it too. I'm so fucking stuck in the eighties that I don't even find it funny anymore. Carrie pointed that out yesterday, and it's today that I finally admitted it.

Today wasn't so good. Horrible hair day, beyond other things. I might not be posting as much anymore, because the momma has gotten angry. I'm not against this new ruling either, for I agree on its purpose and I need to get the fuck back on track.




So this is a list of the 110 most banned books. Bold the ones you've read. Italicize the ones you've read part of. Ready, set, GO!


#1 The Bible
#2 Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
#3 Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
#4 The Koran
#5 Arabian Nights
#6 Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain - fucking hickbag
#7 Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift
#8 Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
#9 Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
#10 Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
#11 The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli
#12 Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
#13 Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
#14 Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
#15 Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
#16 Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
#17 Dracula by Bram Stoker
#18 Autobiography by Benjamin Franklin - AKA pornographic satire
#19 Tom Jones by Henry Fielding - What's up, pussycat?
#20 Essays by Michel de Montaigne

#21 Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck - this author sucks
#22 History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon - this sounds really interesting, Caligula!
#23 Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
#24 Origin of Species by Charles Darwin
#25 Ulysses by James Joyce
#26 Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio
#27 Animal Farm by George Orwell - crazy, but boring shit
#28 Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
#29 Candide by Voltaire - i like this guy
#30 To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee - i wonder why schools always make us read blue collar bibles
#31 Analects by Confucius
#32 Dubliners by James Joyce
#33 Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck - seriously!
#34 Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
#35 Red and the Black by Stendhal
#36 Das Capital by Karl Marx
#37 Flowers of Evil (Les Fleurs du Mal) by Charles Baudelaire
#38 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
#39 Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence
#40 Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

#41 Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser
#42 Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
#43 The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
#44 All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
#45 Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx
#46 Lord of the Flies by William Golding
#47 Diary by Samuel Pepys
#48 Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
#49 Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
#50 Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
#51 Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak
#52 Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant
#53 One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
#54 Praise of Folly by Desiderius Erasmus
#55 Catch-22 by Joseph Heller - fucking awesome
#56 Autobiography of Malcolm X by Malcolm X
#57 Color Purple by Alice Walker
#58 Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger - redhead book, not redneck
#59 Essay Concerning Human Understanding by John Locke
#60 Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

#61 Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe
#62 One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
#63 East of Eden by John Steinbeck
#64 Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
#65 I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
#66 Confessions by Jean Jacques Rousseau
#67 Gargantua and Pantagruel by François Rabelais
#68 Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes
#69 The Talmud - where's the author?
#70 Social Contract by Jean Jacques Rousseau
#71 Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
#72 Women in Love by D. H. Lawrence
#73 American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser
#74 Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
#75 A Separate Peace by John Knowles
#76 Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
#77 Red Pony by John Steinbeck
#78 Popol Vuh - what the hell does this mean?
#79 Affluent Society by John Kenneth Galbraith
#80 Satyricon by Petronius

#81 James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl - what's controversial about being fruity?
#82 Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
#83 Black Boy by Richard Wright
#84 Spirit of the Laws by Charles de Secondat Baron de Montesquieu
#85 Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut
#86 Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
#87 Metaphysics by Aristotle
#88 Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder - hate the shitty show, i hate rednecks
#89 Institutes of the Christian Religion by John Calvin
#90 Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse
#91 Power and the Glory by Graham Greene
#92 Sanctuary by William Faulkner - i always get him messed up with william shatner
#93 As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner - this band ain't bad actually
#94 Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin
#95 Sylvester and the Magic Pebble by William Steig - when did rambo eat fruity pebbles?
#96 Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
#97 General Introduction to Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud - wow.
#98 Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
#99 Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Alexander Brown
#100 A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

#101 Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman by Ernest J. Gaines
#102 Émile Jean by Jacques Rousseau
#103 Nana by Émile Zola
#104 Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
#105 Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin - too many baldwins already
#106 Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
#107 Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein
#108 Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Peck - tell that to colonel sanders about chickens
#109 Ox-Bow Incident by Walter Van Tilburg Clark
#110 Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes


So that's where Steppenwolf and As I Lay Dying got their names from. I haven't heard much of either band's music, so I'll shut up now.

This is a good list to find some good reading from, I'll keep this post in mind.



Tuesday, March 8
Sometimes I wish I had a digital camera, so I could take pictures of stupid shit and entertain myself with my own captions. I think you kids trust me enough that I'm no camwhore who takes new pictures of myself in underwear in front of the mirror where you see yourself holding the fucking camera every five days. I really wish I could take pictures of things that I think look like vaginas or fatasses that I thought were Blimpie spokespeople. Or that one guy that I saw at the mall a few months ago that looked a hell of a lot like Izzy Stradlin. Now that seriously could've been useful for then.

Yes, it is still true that I fucking hate cameras and photography and such, but I only like polaroids mainly for the humorous prospect of using a camera. Other than that, I find photography to be such a fucking bore, seriously. It mostly comes from the fact that my father is a photographer, wedding videographer mainly, and whenever the family goes out somewhere special like on a vacation or something, we waste half of the fucking time taking ten steps down a sidewalk at a flowery park and take fifty fucking pictures for ten minutes. It's the slowest fucking process. What makes it even worse is that I'm not photogenic and during vacations I tend to eat a lot, which makes me a fat bloated fuck.

My dad even practices with his stupid fucking camcorder in the house on his family. He has footage of me when I was eleven eating cookies on the couch, nice and slow. I like to eat really slow and enjoy my food, unlike pretty much everybody else. And for your information, I think I learned from health class or something that if you don't eat as fast as Al Bundy fucks his wife, you digest your food faster or your metabolism is faster or some shit like that. I could be wrong, and my ears could be the problem.

We got dismissed early today due to snow. I've fucking had it with twenty degree eskimo weather coming right after a day of barefoot hippie sixty-five degree weather. It's true, yesterday was bright and sunny, almost seventy and today it drops to a fucking twenty-four and the entire northeastern area turned into my fucking freezer, frozen nuggets and all.

Then I had to leave home at around 2:30 to go to the doctor's. I got my prescription for birth control and I still can't stop laughing about it.

I don't want for tomorrow to come, B days could just suck it.

I'm sorry if I haven't been commenting on anybody's journals, unless it's a one-liner entry or I just read one line from your four-page entry. I should make it up to you folks someday, if you give me money first.

And I want this shirt.





Sunday, March 6
On the creation of the universe:

"In theory, there is no such thing as "before God". My take is that in the beginning, there was beer and Metal. Then Rob Halford created the universe."

That's the greatest fucking thing I've heard all day. For some reason I take that so hilariously. I saw Rob on Uranium last night. And god, was it drop dead fucking boring. Thanks a lot Juliya, you've just made Judas fucking Priest boring. She's so fucking fake, no genuine personality. Just the bitchiest and crankiest most pain in the ass pussy out there, who's not even groupie worthy. She's up in the Axl league. I bet I could do a better job hosting that damn show than her on crack cocaine. Not to mention that I don't have love handles dripping over my pants like melting ice cream on an ice cream cone. Come on, that ice cream doesn't even have a dog standing under it with its tongue panting and drooling, waiting for the ice cream to drip into its mouth.

Jamey Jasta bores the living hell out of me too. Chris Jericho did an excellent job as host for Headbanger's Ball. I was sad to find out that it was only that one night. He, as opposed to Jamey, actually had some cool stories and other tidbits to tell. Everything he said was interesting, and it kept me watching and didn't flip to some other channel as I waited for a video that I actually liked. He knew a lot about the music and crap that was being played and added his own opinions and shit too. I think it was the longest time span that I ever watched that show. I think in that episode they aired part of Guns n' Roses' performance at The Ritz and some old Megadeth or Judas Priest too. It was a good night.

Yeah, and there's a new layout. No more neon and Motley Crue. It has downgraded to just Nikki Sixx, that fucking bitch.

I'm starting to become a Myspace addict. That's really not good. Anything to keep me away from LiveJournal is good, but not another website.




I think I'm growing an interest in cars. My dream car will always be a batmobile, but just by chance if I happen to not get one, I want a fucking 1973 Dodge Charger. Yeah, I like muscle cars. Fuck Volkswagon Beatles, fuck PT Cruisers, fuck Mini Coopers, fuck two foot long BMW's. Those are fucking pussy cars that are made for Axl Rose to cruise in wit his homiez. And perhaps Aaron Carter once his Hummer gets into a snowstorm.

After getting one, or both, of the cars above, I could try to get a DeLorean. Those are fucking hot. I just have to be careful about where I park its vagina doors.

Oh man, they aired The Fabulous Life Of: Motley Crue this morning at 1:30. But I got lazy and didn't watch it. And my consequences are, besides lack of laughter, is if I want to catch it again, I'll have to wake or stay up until 2:30 in the morning tonight to watch it. Stupid VH1, they're so fucking biased against the good stuff. They fucking show the Paris Hilton or Celebrity Superspenders 2004 one until my eyes fucking bled out cum. And they show the Motley one, like twice. It's either they really are fucking biased or I missed all the other times they aired it.

This is the craziest fucking DeLorean I have ever seen.




Some pictures and shit. All taken because no one was home to bother me and ask what the fuck I was doing. Some of these are long overdue. Well, your dreams have come true. And no, I have not grown a liking to Gwar.


My pussy mosaic is done. Was done a month or two ago.


After bringing it home and exposing it to the humidity of my room in its confine of a closed door at night, it seems to have turned itself into a one-inch tall arch bridge. Maybe I do love the bug kingdom after all.





Holy shit there's a Megadeth video on TV!






It looks better in real life. Trust me on this one. For now you can just think of it as semen sprayed into a pot of chili.


Linoleum prints of Izzy Stradlin. These were the crappy ones that the teacher isn't submitting to some dumb shit contest. So I decided to bring them home and bore you folks with them.


Red with paper stuck on it. The paper is the white stuff that looks like I enjoyed my subject of this work a little too much.


Not only was this the first print, it was the best one in my opinion. Sadly, I was a stupid fuck and while it was drying, put it on the drying rack with other papers and shit on top of it. You guessed it, the paper got stuck to it. It's not supposed to have so many colors, they're there now because he looks like Jesus. Or is he?


Too goopy and it looks like a coconut lamp if you don't focus on it.


The greatest fucking mousepad. Fuck you, not even Duff McKagan's face on foam could beat that.


To the left is the curtain. The dark streaks on the right were a mosquito that I killed in the summer whose body was smeared onto my wall.


For over a year, my house has been going through a lot of renovation. Right now, my folks are working on reflooring the living room. I'd take pictures of the house and shit, but I don't have a real camera whose cord isn't only three feet long. Since I can't take a picture of the floor for you, I brought the new floor to you, on top of my floor.


It is very dark outside.


The lid finally came off after holding on for dear life.




Hm, I had a picture of dried up shit on my window, but it seems to have lost itself in the process of saving it.



Saturday, March 5
So the folks and sibling left for another one of those stupid parties. This time I didn't go because there is no money involved. But I'm still rather unhappy. The mother was giving me such a hard time all day, because I had been giving her a hard day in return. For some reason, my lack of doing anything and lack of motivation for anything, at all, is starting to really fucking irritate her. It's starting to irritate me too. It's just some horrible habit that I just can't get rid of. Maybe I have a marijuana plant planted into my mind, and it's forcing me to not do anything or care about a single fucking thing.

They left the house with a bad note. I could tell that no one really gave a fuck about me, telling by the look on her face. It saddens me to think that I could depress the people who have taken care of me my whole life. Over the past few months I have gotten more freedom, with no one bothering me all the time to do homework or scheduling my day on what to do, and I've taken that privilege for granted. To the point of being the biggest asshole there could possibly be.

I'm seriously willing to change. And I think the main factor in this downfall of my personality and habitry is this stupid fucking computer and its stupid fucking LiveJournal and Myspace and Metal Sludge and all this other bullshit that I carelessly and wastefully waste my life away with for twelve hours every day. It'll only be a few years until I leave this place and the company of my parents. Yeah, I'm sounding like a fucking sap right now, but I bet you stupid fucks just won't admit it. You don't want to leave your home. Or maybe it's just especially hard for me because, I rarely leave this place anyway, and when you stay with something for so long you become more and more attached to it, no matter how many hard times you go through.

It's like an old wrinkly cranky sterile couple that's been married for fifty years. They argue like Saddamn Hussein and George Bush in the same room, or me and Oderus Stinklefuck from Gwar at Macy's. But just cannot separate from one another no matter what.

Today after waking up and eating lunch, I spent six hours on my bed watching the Project Runway marathon. It's a good show, but I felt like such a sorry asshole not interacting with anyone. My mom thinks I talk a hell of a fucking lot when outside of the house and just chooses to ignore their own family. Well she's fucking wrong, I never talk to anyone. It's rare when I talk like a fucking maniac, because when I do, it's because I'm real happy to see that person. Don't get me wrong, I'm not unhappy to see my folks, but I talk as much to them as I normally would to anyone else. I talk like a maniac when I haven't seen a person in a really long time, something like that.

I also noticed that later into Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It," they start to sound like Poison. That's why I hate that song now. And the fact that the lyrics are too fucking cliche and typical and cheesy angsty. I like Dee Snider though, his personality is ecclectic and shit, but god, his band sucks.

It's about time I noticed that most '80s bands sound alike. I'm such a dumb shit like that.



Friday, March 4
I'm listening to Contraband for the first time in three months. Can you fucking believe that? For some reason, I never bother with my official CD's and I just drool all over and fucking overplay all my copied ones and MP3 files. It's like I can't be around anything that's really worth money. Maybe if I transfer the songs onto my computer, I'll listen to my official store-bought CDs' songs more often.

So today was pretty good. I've developed this new sleeping method in order to keep the volume in my hair after showering and washing it right before I go to bed. It sucks that my fucking head gets so oily and shit just from sweating or something on a pillow, so now I sleep with my head off the bed so I look like some retarded fucking vampire. Oh, the sacrifices I make to look good.

I did horrible on my geometry test. See, I thought I did good, but it turned out to be a 52%. And yesterday on some fucktard essay on The Crucible the fucking teacher gave me a 60%. No one fucking told me it was a research paper, so I wrote all this bullshit that came from my own head. Man, I thought it was a good essay too. I was absent the day it was assigned, and my stupid dipshit classmates didn't tell me either when I asked about what was for homework. Even worse, my average for chemistry is a quarter-sized 25%. Score!

Yeah, like you care about that at all. But I just want to keep track of my fucktardery. You aren't in charge of this piece of LiveJournal shit, I am.

Neither of my shirts, Victoria's Secret or Jack Daniel's, have come in the mail yet. What the fuck are these postal dudes doing with my shit? I hope it's not like that episode in Seinfeld, where the guy takes Jerry's mother's fur coat and gives it to his own mother or whatever old woman to wear. Then Jerry sees the old woman wearing it at a department store walk into a fitting room cubicle thing. He says, "Hey, that's my mother's coat!" And the lady, from inside the underwear cubicle, says, "No it's not!" Oh man did I laugh. I fucking love watching Seinfeld. I just got into it recently though, and I wish I had a friend whom I can watch it all the fucking time with. While eating beef jerky and home-made brownies.

I'm starting to believe in the theory that if you eat a lot of bad food, you will break out. After break, and using this new acne cream shit to spread all over my fucking face, my face was clearing up pretty nicely. And at the end of this week, after eating twenty bags of chips, three hundred pieces of chocolate, etc. etc., not only have I reverted back to old habits that were once restricted from staying home with my mother, but my face is, well, reverting back to its old habits also.

I think I owe you kids an entry on when I went to see Conan O'Brien a few weeks ago. Well, you ain't getting one now because my fingers are starting to hurt.

I also owe you kids who wanted a personalized entry about you by Christina. I'd seriously do them right now, but if you haven't noticed, all of my entry subjects have absolutely nothing to do with the actual entry itself, so it's going to take a pretty fucking long time to find that entry. I don't even remember what month it was in.

This person on Myspace is selling some Velvet Revolver DVD. Some concert at Hammersmith, England. I don't know if it's a bootleg or something not released yet. Because I don't keep up with Velvet Revolver news. I'm thinking of buying a copy, I need some sex on screen that isn't literally porn. Because duh, I'm not allowed to do pretty much anything that's normal in America, so why the hell would I be allowed to watch porn? Oh boy, I crack myself up.

Especially at Metal Sludge. God, I love that place. I'm starting to spend too much time on that site. That's the reason I didn't post yesterday. I was busy writing stupid shit at a message board that's domineered by adult metalheads who have over fifty Metallica t-shirts from the actual concerts.

Wow, yesterday. The craziest fucking lunch happened. I don't really want to explain all of it right now because my left wrist is fucking killing me. But I will anyway, because like I've said before, I'm trying to someday be able to accomplish the longest journal entry known to the perverted online world.

Yes. So yesterday, I had just put my sweater back on after gym class, and B lunch hadn't ended yet. I decided to sit down on the side of the hallway, all alone, with my polka-dotted candy bag and used bottle of Propel water now filled with regular water. Natalia had just come from gym also and sat down across the hallway, so being the lonely whore I am, I joined her. For the remainder of the time I was too lazy to join some other folks who sat where I was at first. So Ferris starts oh god, you know what, I'm tired of typing this already. If I were to explain everything in the long, extremely detailed way that I always do, I think I really would write the longest journal entry known to the perverted internet world.

This one's too long anyway, no looking back and editing.



Wednesday, March 2
I never get accepted into any rating communities. I don't know why. Well someone invited me to try out for one, so I did. It seemed like a cool place, so yeah of course I tried out. Maybe Gwar is casting this horrible shadow on me. Maybe I should lighten up on them.

No, never will I do that, you fucking tard.

Come to think of it, I never get accepted into anything. What's wrong with me? Don't ask me, I find myself pretty fucking decent enough to not be considered as a Poison fan. I mean, am I too different or am I too full of shit? It's either one of those, I know. Or maybe I'm not "intellectual" enough about music? Like I give a fuck about how smart I have to be to fit into someone's specific mold.

Yeah, I'll confess that I'm not a super musical encyclopedia and that I only touch on a few bands here and there in every type of genre. Seriously, you cannot expect me to know every single band and era of a certain genre. Mainly because I love all sorts of music. And if I can't get into let's say, a classic rock rating community, well then so be it. Fuck that, I'll just judge myself, right here, in my own journal. If I'm not good enough for them, whatever. Like I always say, I got my Axl jokes to keep me company.

It's obvious I like to learn about a lot of this shit, yeah I talk about it non-stop like diarrhea flowing out of Montel Williams' ass, another reason is because a lot of friends talk to me about different bands and such, and being the not so mean as Axl the Fucking Pussy, I'll try to touch up on that too so I can relate to my buddy's interests.

I never win contests in school [that I was forced to enter by the dumbfuck teacher], nor did I win that fish picture coloring contest back when I was seven. But I did get accepted, by total random chance out of my knowledge at all, into this modelling convention at the Waldorf Astoria in New York a few years ago. I didn't go though, because they said I had to pay to get walking and posing lessons and all that bullshit, which my folks didn't want to pay for because it would take up their time to do who knows what the fuck. It came as a complete shock. This weird letter from some modelling agency who supposedly founded Marilyn Monroe mailed the invitation to me. I was such a fucking loser back then, me and my Korn and Limp Bizkit. And what surprises me even more, is how the fucking hell do they know about me?

I never got out of the house very often, which makes it even harder. Also being that no one I knew got one of those special invitations either. I felt like I was on top of the world as when it came to looks. But that was back then, I've worn out all my hotness by now probably. One example supporting that conclusion that I need some fucking ass, right now.

Yes, I used to like Korn and Limp Bizkit. A lot. I was so fucking obsessed. But I guess the lord was smart to separate my mind from them just like he did to Head, except that I dedicated my life to trying to get laid. Which is another thing I don't know why I never got.

When the fuck is my Jack Daniel's shirt coming? It's been nine days since I won it, and eight days that the postal service has been in service since I won it. It better fucking come.

So today was pretty good, the HSPA math test was complete bullshit. I didn't get a lot of it, because Christina doesn't care about math. Christina has a calculator and her smart mommy to do math for her. One open-ended question that I really couldn't understand, where you had to write down your work and shit, I wrote "SUCK IT" all over the fucking thing. Take that, you fucking test graders. Getting paid for reading cruel, yet beautiful sexual innuendoes. Or more like life-essential advice, is what it seems to me.

I think I did good on the chemistry test in chemistry class after that. Yes, I may have the feeling that I did everything right, but it's going to be that I actually had the right feeling that I got everything wrong. No biggie, I'm not going to be designing jap-killing bombs when I'm older. I've already discovered the Christina-killing bomb though. And that is a Gwar propaganda bomb.

No wait there's another one, it's my dad's ass after a big meal.

Blah blah blah go wank it on with a saw.

Oh man, so Motley Crue did close the NYSE at 4:00. Mick was in the center, directly behind the podium. He looked like a little boy between his ugly mom and dad named Vince Neil and Nikki Sixx. Nikki didn't look sick at all. That lying motherfucker. Or maybe he really was sick, and recovered fast enough because he "beat god at his game." Tommy is still fucking tall and skinny, just a little bit leathery and worn. Like a bicycle seat that's been sat on too many times by a dude who has a big penis. Vince hit the gavel on the floppy car wheel looking thing on the podium. It looked really dumb. No sound, no big bang, just that funny looking donut thing flopping around on the podium and Vince trying to hit it like he was playing Whack-A-Mole or something. It was kind of cute though, because I think that's the only game that Vince's mind is capable of comprehending and understanding the rules in.



Tuesday, March 1
Snow day today, I think it's the first one this year. Or maybe I'm mistaken. Whatever, it's not my job to keep track of this crap.

Motley Crue, supposedly, was on Daily Download today. And all we got was Vince. He said that Nikki and Mick are sick, and I couldn't really care less about Tommy because I never hear about him getting sick. Upon answering the question whether backstage of the new tour is as crazy as crazy they're notoriously known for, Vince denied it. As in denying that it's totally dead boring. Except for Tommy, he's not a married man. Vince is a bad liar. But whatever, I guess he's just protecting his bandmates.

I read, or watched, well something, a while ago that Vince apparently is the nicest Motley Crue member [once he's not drunk]. I agree. Mick I heard was a great guy too, but watching an interview sometime ago, ehh, Vince is more of a softy. Or pussy, shall I say.

As in for more Motley Crue TV appearances, they're closing the NYSE tomorrow at 4:00 on CNBC. I'm not surprised if there's going to be pyrotechnics and naked chicks swinging on ropes at the stock market.

For one thing, I'm not so happy with the direction the band is going in, musically. God, their new single is absolutely horrible. Nikki, that fucking cunt. He's pretty much the bossman of the group so I'm guessing it was his fucking idea to write songs with Simple Plan and choose Sum 41 as the opening act. Not to mention that he's a shitty actor. That part with the wings in the video for "If I Die Tomorrow," just that little bit makes me look like fucking Scarlet O'Hara compared to him. Tommy sucks too, he came off as looking emo. And you know how I look down upon that.

And I look very low upon that. Emo kids can just suck it. Just like I say about goth kids, why won't they just let us folks who are fucking tired of their fucking whining, let them go of their misery by testing out how a noose really works? It's a win/win situation. The emo fuck gets his wish of going to heaven or wherever the fuck he's going just to get heartbroken from that stupid bitch he writes about in his AIM profile, and I get to know how it feels like to kill such a useless piece of shit. See, conflict resolution class in seventh grade really helped after all.

Since it's probably Nikki that's making all these dumb decisions, you're probably wondering why he isn't on my pussy list. He's just an asshole, not a pussy. He's far from a pussy. He's literally up the backside, up between the asscrack. He went a little too far and missed the pussy.

"It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember that I am the Pope."

- Pope John XXIII



My favorite thing to do during my spare time is skinning my neighbors' pet pomeranians and trading their fur to crack dealers in Newark.




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